Principal Duty

"I'll help you out personally, ma'am," you say.

The Principal's face lights up with satisfaction. She claps her thick hands together once, the sound sharp in the quiet classroom.

"Excellent. Mr. Macron, please have Ms. Helsbig pick a student from her class to do the laundry duty. And Mr. O'Leary, please follow me back to my office."

Mr. Macron gives a quick, awkward nod. You stand and follow the Principal out. Her massive frame fills the doorway as she leaves, fat folds shifting under her tight clothes with every heavy step. The walk back to her office is short and silent except for the soft thud of her shoes and the occasional creak of the floorboards under her weight.

Inside, she shuts the door firmly behind you and turns the lock with a deliberate click. The office suddenly feels much smaller. She turns to face you, deep voice dropping into that thick German accent.

"You really are a good boy, Mr. O'Leary. And since you've been such a good boy to me, I'll reward you by letting you choose how you can 'help' me."

She leans back against the edge of her desk, the wood creaking under her bulk. Her heavy thighs press together, the fabric of her skirt stretched tight. A faint sour-sweet smell already drifts from her as she looks down at you, waiting.

"So. How will you serve me today?"